


undertow.

by outpastthemoat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brokeback purgatory, M/M, Purgatory, Season gr8, meanwhile in Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outpastthemoat/pseuds/outpastthemoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You’re not ready to let him go this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	undertow.

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Sog (Übersetzung)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/971376) by [lumidaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumidaub/pseuds/lumidaub)



You’re not ready to let him go this time.    
  
You’re running towards the riverbank with all of purgatory behind you, gripping Cas’s hand as tightly as you can, but then suddenly Cas says something that you can’t quite hear, and his hand slides out of your grasp.

You’re in the water and it feels like you’re being pulled under.  There’s a blast of pure light and that’s the last thing you see, and you’re not ready to go.  
  
There’s a ringing in your ears, and you open your eyes and see sky for the first time in what feels like forever.  You’re  _home_ , finally home but Cas isn’t there by your side, and you’re stranded here on earth and left with nothing but the words you think he might have said, right before he ripped out his grace and used it to send you back.  

They’re the last words he’ll ever say to you, words you always believed wouldn’t be true as long as you pretended not to listen.  Now you know there’ll never be another chance to hear them, or ever say them back, and you’re not ready to face the fact that there isn’t a single shade of gray between you and Cas anymore, it’s black and white, it’s crystal clear: you’ll do anything to get him back.  
  
You find Cas on the riverbank where you left him.   

 _I’m not ready,_ Cas says, closing his eyes as you hold his head in your hands, running your fingers down the sides of his face.  This is what he says, choking on black water as you tow him across the river, towards the other side and you know what he means is _forgiveness_ , or maybe  _salvation_.    
  
You’re holding on to Cas with all your might and dragging him through the dark water and it’s just like in your nightmares, except this time you won’t let go.  He gasps for for breath, and you know angels don’t need to breathe, but Cas isn’t an angel anymore and it’s because of you.  

The water tastes of wormwood and redemption.

He grips your jacket with both hands, and you’re not sure if he’s holding on for dear life, or if he’s trying to push you away.  And for one moment when he sinks under the water you think you’ve lost him again, but you find the collar of that ragged, tired trenchcoat and pull him back up, all for the world like you mean to baptize Cas in the waters of Jordan.  
  
You pull him to the shore and it’s done, you made it, it was you who saved Cas this time and that makes him yours, for better or worse.  For keeps.  

Cas closes his eyes and sinks down on the sand, and you look at his face and for the first time you see weary lines around his eyes, and it makes him look so human.  All you know to do is to keep hanging on to him, you’re not ready for anything else, so you rest your head on his and kiss his eyes like a benediction.  
  
You might be ready for forever, for eternity, but you aren’t ready for the way Cas shakes in your arms as you both leak river water all over the backseat of the Impala, you’re not ready for the way he huddles on the bathroom floor in the motel as you clean his wounds.   _Dean,_  he says, over and over and you wonder if he understands it’s really you. You remember the sound of a porcelain angel shattering on the floor of a beautiful room, and you wonder why it is that you break all your toys.

And you know him, you know each version of Cas, all with different degrees of frightening precision and awkward hesitance and quiet assurance, but though Cas is as familiar to you as the back of your own hand, you’re not ready for this wild-eyed creature who clings to you, who sleeps with hands curled tightly in fists and yet somehow manages to steal your pillow, who babbles in strange tongues when he wakes in the dead of night and can’t remember where or what he is.   
      
Still, you’re sure that no other Cas has ever made you ache like this, made you wonder if the Enochian symbols he once carved into your bones were love letters, made you wonder if the rib next to your heart was ripped away when you weren’t paying attention and then used to remake a body of light into this creature of dust.   
  
 _I’m not ready_ _,_  Cas says, and this is what he says about taking showers and tying shoelaces and eating sandwiches and each time those words are a reminder of what he is now, graceless but yours.  And though it might seem like Cas needs you right now, you know that’s not the case, it’s never been the case; it’s you who needs Cas and it always has been.    
   
And oh lord, oh  _lord_ , you’re not ready for this sort of thing.


End file.
